Pied Piper

CHAPTER 83

Boldt cut through the field of headless daffodils, bent at the waist, staying as low as possible, hoping to avoid the glare of the moonlight. The investigator in him knew that he was, in some form or another, retracing footsteps taken by Andy Anderson some weeks before. Mindful of Anderson’s fate, Boldt paused randomly and sank down into a crouch, like a swimmer ducking into a wave. His decision to leave Crowley alone in the car with Flemming had come with great difficulty, but better that, he had decided, than leave it to Flemming to approach the farmhouse. Gun happy, and crazed with the thirst of revenge, Flemming felt more like a time bomb than an ally. Boldt hurried-the fuse to that time bomb was lit and burning.

The warm night air carried the promise of summer and the faint scent of the millions of tulips that ran for mile after mile. On a different night, the two-story farmhouse would have looked picturesque to him, glazed in moonlight, clustered in a nest of outbuildings. As Boldt drew near he used those sheds as a screen, abandoning his crouch and running fully erect.

He and Flemming held many advantages, not the least of which was Roger Crowley’s expectation and anticipation of his wife’s arrival. Although not a Taurus, the Town Car would work to that end with proper timing; it was for this reason that Boldt’s cell phone was already dialed to call Flemming, awaiting the simple touch of the SEND button.

His chest pounding from a combination of nerves and the run up the slope, Boldt ducked around one shed and then another. He carried two stun grenades and a phosphorus bomb in his sport coat. Flemming had retained the stun stick and the shotgun.

The downstairs of the farmhouse was lit up like the Fourth of July, every window ablaze. Boldt stood in the lee of a shed carefully studying what lay behind each window. Toward the back, a kitchen: empty. Toward the front, a living room: empty. The upstairs remained dark, and Boldt knew from his own exploration of the Pied Piper’s surveillance points that the man preferred the higher ground, the darkness and seclusion of a pair of curtains partially drawn.

In the end it came down to a string of decisions for Boldt and Flemming, none of which held any guarantees, all of which carried tremendous risk for their two daughters. They lacked a Taurus. They lacked manpower. Time. Their one hostage was weakened to the point of near unconsciousness. Their adversary held a farmhouse, elevated for good security, no doubt fortified, and containing two of the most precious people on earth.

Boldt considered Special Ops and SPD’s Emergency Response Team, wondering if he would have dared put Sarah’s life into their hands.

If he attempted to sneak inside but gave himself away, Sarah would go from kidnap victim to hostage. Of primary importance was knowing Crowley’s exact location. All else was secondary, as the man’s location represented the degree of threat to their daughters. Boldt moved around the shed in shadow, reemerging on the structure’s other side with a different, and improved, view of both the kitchen’s interior and that of the living room. Both still appeared empty.

Roger Crowley, the Pied Piper, was somewhere upstairs in the dark.

Boldt pulled out his cell phone and pressed the SEND button, initiating the signal. He waited to hear it ring through and hung up.

Seconds later, a pair of headlights rounded the far corner of the forty-acre field and motored slowly toward the farmhouse. Boldt pressed himself flat against the damp wood and waited.